


costuming angels

by dyadinbloom



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Actor Ben Solo, Actor Rey (Star Wars), Alternate Universe - Theatre, Bodice Ripping, Day 18: Costumes, Dracula AU, F/M, Multi, Sharing a Bed, Spooktacular Collection, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Theatre, Theatre Owner Leia, ben solo is beefy as fuck, but naturally he is also soft as fuck, corset ripping too, director Luke, his Dracula on the other hand is terrifying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:28:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27090481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyadinbloom/pseuds/dyadinbloom
Summary: "Do not believe for a second he is killing the young. He is costuming angels." -Jean Cocteau
Relationships: Finn/Rose Tico, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25
Collections: Reylo Readers & Writers - The Spooktacular Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt "Costumes" for the Halloween Spooktacular collection, for whatever reason, made me think of theatrical costume changes...so here we are!! Huge thank you to [AuroraNoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNoirInStardust/pseuds/AuroraNoirInStardust) for answering questions about life in the theatre.

Rey’s breath hitched in her throat as her body was held, frozen, by an unseen hand. 

“What _are_ you?” she whispered, voice shaking, her breathing coming in short gasps. 

A deep chuckle nearby made her shiver from head to toe. She felt a presence draw nearer, and her eyes were frantic, seeking the source even as she was held still. 

“I have dined with kings,” a low voice murmured. Rey sucked in a breath audibly, desperate and terrified to find the speaker. He laughed again. 

“I have commanded nations. I have watched Time chisel lines into the faces of young women.” At this, a gloved hand stroked her cheek. Rey screamed, fighting to turn, panting in fear as she felt the shadow lurking behind her. The dark presence made her white clothing stand out in sharp relief. 

“But,” the voice whispered in her ear seductively. “Time shall never scar you with its hand.” At this, the hand she could feel hovering near her neck was met by the fingers of another, as the man tugged the leather away from his skin. His cool fingers brushed against her throat and Rey moaned again in terror. 

“You…” he murmured. “ _You_ are for the ages.”

* * *

_“CUT!”_ Luke yelled, and Rey sagged in relief, breaking character as easily as one might crack an eggshell. She stood up straight, arching her back, delighted to abandon her cowardly, cowering posture.

“Great job, you two,” Luke commended, and Rey nodded her thanks, then turned to the tall man behind her.

“Nicely done, Benjamin,” she said softly. “You terrified me. Mission accomplished.” She smiled softly as she watched Ben drop his carefully-constructed mask as well, his hulking posture withdrawing into his more typical sheepish one, his menacing scowl melting into a shy grin.

“You too, Rey,” he said in his soft baritone, his voice sending shivers of an entirely different sort down her spine. He grinned at her, then grimaced and popped out his false fangs. “Ick,” he said, eloquently.

She giggled and yanked off her wig, shaking her head so her short hair fluffed out around her face, much more sparse than the waist-length locks she wore as Mina.

“I’m parched,” she lamented, and they trailed offstage and into the wings, Ben laughing dryly at her vampiric humor.

“So is my character, but you don’t see me pouncing, do you?”

“Don’t be silly. Everyone knows Ben Solo has _far_ more self control than Dracula,” Rey teased.

Ben grinned and nudged her with his shoulder. “Shut it.”

“It’s true,” she protested, as they rounded the corner into a short corridor leading to the dressing rooms. “You’re not Ben when we’re acting. You’re _him._ And to be honest, you’re terrifying. But I mean that in a good way.”

Rey was quick to reassure him; for all his talent, Ben was a sensitive man, attuned to the opinions of colleagues, directors, and critics alike. Rey personally thought he was amazing, and still felt lucky to be working with someone as naturally gifted as him.

“See you later, Mina,” Ben said, disappearing into the men’s dressing area with a flourish of his long cape.

“Adieu, Count,” Rey sang back, then strolled into her own backstage space with a small grin on her heavily made-up face.

Rey sank into a canvas chair and stared at herself in the mirror. Her long brunette wig was tossed haphazardly onto the vanity before her, and the loose white nightgown her character wore in her nighttime scenes looked wrinkled and plain. Her skin was as translucent and white as the fabric she wore, hazel eyes shadowed heavily by cosmetics that played up her realistic lack of sleep.

As she creamed off the thick stage makeup, Rey began to look more like herself, and less like the intelligent but still-weak Mina Harker she played onstage. Her hazel eyes shone, her freckles peeked out from beneath the foundation she wore, and her complexion gradually took on the tan of the rest of her skin, the sickly pallor she hid behind as Mina fading away.

This role was the role of her career. The chance to play a female lead in a play as longstanding and intricate as _Dracula._ The chance to work under a director as seasoned as Luke Skywalker. The chance to work opposite an actor as respected as Benjamin Solo.

If only she could think about Ben in a professional manner, this would be the perfect gig. But, Rey thought, frowning at herself in the brightly-lit mirror, she didn’t think about Ben professionally.

Not at all.

It was quite unprofessional, in fact, to think about how he filled out those black suits of Dracula’s, and how good he looked when he swept that heavy cape around, and how tempted Rey was to let him bite her when they were both in character.

When she worked, she chalked it up to good acting: Mina was seduced, naturally, by the power and magic of the Count. But Rey knew the truth.

Ben Solo was just plain sexy, in character or not, and he was irresistible to her.

She thought back to their first meeting, in an audition of all places, and smiled as she rubbed coconut oil into her freshly-washed skin.

* * *

Rey fidgeted nervously as she held her well-worn script in trembling hands. Her notes, in bloodred ink, stained the margins as frequently as her fingers had paged through the binder. She glanced down now at the cover— _Dracula, directed by Luke Skywalker_ —and concentrated on breathing deeply through her nose. She, Rey Johnson, was auditioning to be in a play directed by _Luke Skywalker_ , of all people!

Rey from nowhere, Rey nobody, with no acting training, with very few roles to speak of. And somehow she’d gotten past the first two rounds of auditions and would now get to read opposite the male lead, who’d been cast already.

She had to focus; couldn’t blow this opportunity and miss her shot. She knew her lines, could read the scene in her sleep, but so much depended upon her chemistry with the other actor. Rey just hoped they clicked.

But when the door swept open and a tall, dark, and very familiar man walked into the room, all the oxygen seemed to rush from the room. Rey had been nervous about reading in front of Luke, about possibly going up against more experienced actresses, about all manner of things—but she didn’t know she’d need to be nervous about reading opposite her personal hero and celebrity crush.

Because she had no idea that Ben Solo was who’d been cast into the role of Dracula; how could she, when he was the A-lister of Broadway, and this was supposed to be a bare bones, low-budget retelling of an age-old story?

Rey gulped as she absorbed her idol in the flesh. Now that he was just a few feet away, he seemed much larger than he did when she’d seen him onstage, the sheer breadth of his frame filling the room with his presence. He wore dark clothes now, as he did in every interview in which she’d seen him, but the black tee shirt and jeans did nothing to diminish his size. Ben radiated dark intensity, in everything from his rigid posture to his hooded gaze. Rey could see now why he needed to perform; there had to be somewhere for all that excess energy, that sheer magnetism, to go.

“Hello,” she greeted him shakily, offering a small smile. He maintained the neutral expression on his face and nodded her way; not unfriendly, but clearly absorbed in playing his part.

“Thanks for joining us, Ben,” Luke Skywalker said, and Rey was abruptly reminded of the fact that there were other people in this room, that Ben Solo was only one of her many concerns right now. “Are you ready, Rey?”

Rey nodded and looked down at her script. She glanced at Ben and realized that in her perusal of him, she’d neglected to look for his book. She could see now that he didn’t have one, and she wondered how many times he’d rehearsed this scene with other potential actors for the role of Mina for him to know his lines by heart.

“We’ll begin with your lines, then, Ben,” Luke said, and Ben nodded again. He closed his eyes, and Rey took the opportunity to study him as he stilled. When he opened his eyes again, they blazed with a manic light, and she gasped in awareness as fear skittered down her spine.

Ben took a step toward her, and she found her gaze glued to his, unable to look away. Her body seemed to sway toward him as he neared.

“It is an interesting concept, is it not?” he purred, looking down at her from above his long nose. He arched a dark brow, and Rey blinked rapidly, hanging on his every word. “The idea of never aging, I mean. Would it appeal to you, Miss Mina?” Ben raised his hand at this, holding it just beside her face, his palm so close she could feel the heat of it near her cheek. He spoke his next words in a hushed voice, just above a whisper, his lips swaying ever closer to her ear. “To be rich, beautiful...eternally young?”

Rey shuddered and tilted her head the slightest bit, leaning her cheek into Ben’s palm with the lightest of touches. She spoke her lines reflexively, caught up in the moment.

“I think everyone has a desire for perennial youth,” she said, looking up at Ben from beneath her lashes, a half-smile playing about her lips. “But it is a Faustian ideal. When I really think about it, I would not wish to be young forever.” Rey delivered her lines with the blend of conviction and propriety she imagined Mina would embody; she was an intelligent woman, but one very much aware of the value of playing her part in society.

Ben trailed his palm down her cheek, laying his hand aside her neck for a brief moment before sliding it down her shoulder and off of her body. Rey shuddered out a breath, nonetheless keeping her eyes on his in challenge.

“No?” he intoned, that deep baritone vibrating in his chest. “And why ever not?” His tone was almost mocking, as though her answer was the most pathetic thing he’d heard.

“Because,” she replied quietly. “I would be obliged to watch everyone I loved grow old...and die.” She finished softly, the emotion in her lines borne from a lifetime of never having anyone to love. Mina would treat love and loss with the seriousness it deserved, Rey knew.

“What if that were not the case?” Ben asked smoothly, his voice seductive, persuasive. “What if there was one person whom you loved deeply?” He stepped back, turning away from her to deliver his questions over his shoulder, his face in profile as he spoke in a cultured murmur. “With whom you could live on forever, under the same terms?” Ben kept his eyes cast to the side, but she knew he could see her from his peripheral vision. In her mind’s eye, he wore the high collar that was Dracula’s signature; he would look amazing in costume, she already knew.

Distantly, she heard the flutter of pages as her script fell to the floor, unneeded. “Perhaps,” she murmured, her voice thick. “Perhaps then it would prove agreeable.” She swallowed heavily, then stepped closer to him, lifting a hand to touch his shoulder, imagining it was covered by a heavy cloak and not thin black cotton. She felt him shudder under her touch, and wondered fleetingly if he was in character—if Dracula would pine for Mina’s mercy, for her caress—or if he was just a man who was startled by being touched.

Ben turned slowly to face her once more, and they finished the scene in a similar fashion; alternately advancing and retreating, turning and seeking escape, but being held back by the other.

When it was over, Rey felt as conflicted by this enigmatic man before her as she knew Mina Murray would have been by Dracula himself.

Her thoughts turned to the real world once again only when she heard a slow clap from behind her. Slowly, the applause grew, until it seemed everyone in the room was clapping and smiling. A woman with purple hair stood and sent a grin her way.

“I think we’ve found our Mina, Luke,” she said, and Rey turned to see Luke Skywalker beaming.

“I think you’re right, my friend.” He grinned and nodded at Rey. “Welcome to the team, Johnson.”

Rey felt the lingering melancholy of her scene slip away, and she laughed out loud as she turned to Ben. He, too, had dropped character, and the way he grinned at her now, so crooked and luminous, made Rey fall even more deeply under his spell. Gone was the vampiric seductiveness of his Dracula; here was something even more potent: the sweetness of the real Ben Solo.

“Congratulations,” he rumbled, his deep voice warmer now, his brown gaze made more powerful when it was framed by the smile lines around his eyes.

Rey used every moment of her training as an actor to keep her expression joyful when she felt her heart fall with a _thunk_ somewhere into the vicinity of her shoes.

She’d been in a room with Ben Solo for not even half an hour, and he’d already stolen her heart. This play would either be the greatest or most terrible thing to ever happen to her.

* * *

Now, weeks later, Rey stood before her dressing table, smiling dreamily as she tied an elastic around the end of her braid. It seemed unreal to her that less than a month ago, she’d landed the role of a lifetime opposite the man of her dreams. Now, with countless scenes together and one dress rehearsal under their belt, she’d developed a comfortable rapport with Ben Solo, whom she’d once regarded as some sort of unapproachable god.

She knew now that he was still unapproachable to many, but not her. As for being godlike, that really hadn’t changed, Rey thought with a smirk.

She’d just finished loading up her bag when she heard the plodding footsteps of her favorite female co-star coming her way. Rey smiled to greet Rose Tico, who was playing the role of Lucy, as she shuffled into the dressing area.

“Unghhhhh,” Rose groaned, collapsing dramatically onto a battered sofa they kept miraculously clear of debris, for swooning episodes just such as these. Rose threw a beleaguered hand over her eyes, and Rey giggled as she saw the fake blood splattered on Rose’s white nightdress.

“Murdered again?” she asked sympathetically.

“I swear, Amilyn is way too forgiving of the special effects department. How many times do I have to be killed and bloodied? How many nightgowns does she have in reserve?!” Rose glanced at Rey properly and scowled. “You’re already done?!”

“I don’t get bitten until tomorrow,” Rey said, her mind already drifting to how lovely it would be to have Ben’s hands on her throat, to feel his lips against her skin. The dreamy smile stayed on her lips, and not for the first time, Rey felt that she understood how Mina had fallen under Dracula’s spell. 

“You’re so lucky. You get to wear a wig, you don’t have to get murdered and then reborn and then murdered again. Very few special effects whatsoever.” Rose lifted her body from the couch with visible effort, untying the reddened ribbon around her throat and shucking the nightgown off of her fake-bloodstained body, kicking it off of her legs once it hit the floor.

Rey helped Rose pick up the yards of white fabric that billowed around them, laughing to herself as her friend grumbled and strode toward the shower. “I swear, this play will be the death of me.”

“Literally!” Rey sang, laughing as Rose flipped her the middle finger before swishing the shower curtain shut. “See you tomorrow!”

“Bye, Mina mine!” Rose replied, employing the nickname Rey’s stage husband used. Rey smiled at that, and mused on how much she was enjoying this production as she walked home. Perhaps Rose would be happy when their run ended, but Rey never wanted it to. They were a few weeks away from opening night here on their home turf, and their six-week program featured two weeks of home performances bracketing two weeks of travel.

Rey had never traveled before, and was thrilled to get to tour with the company, even if it was just to small cities nearby. 

The theater had given her a small family, and where they’d begun to bond over shared meals and table reads, soon they’d grow closer through the exhilaration of live performances and the rigors of traveling shows. 

Truly, Rey couldn’t wait. She reveled in every moment of every day, living her dreams, never taking them for granted. Even now, as she approached her tiny apartment, just a short walk from the theatre, she was grateful. A quiet place of her own, a little family she could love, and a job she was good at and adored. Rey Johnson, the nobody from nowhere, couldn’t ask for anything more. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [AuroraNoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNoirInStardust/pseuds/AuroraNoirInStardust) for her expertise in the theatre and your patience in answering all my questions!!  
> As I've been writing this fic, I've drawn inspiration from three books for the dialogue in Luke's version of the stage play: _Dracula_ by Bram Stoker, _Dracula in Love_ by Karen Essex, and _Dracula, My Love_ by Syrie James. The dialogue in my play is a combination of standout lines from those books, lines from Star Wars, and my own vampire-happy brain. I hope you enjoy what those combinations have produced!

Amilyn Holdo, her distinctive purple hair swept into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck, furrowed her brows as she pinned and tucked and laced Rey into her daywear costume. 

“You’ve got a lot more muscle under here than I thought,” Amilyn commented, although it didn’t sound like a compliment, Rey thought wryly. 

“Yes,” she agreed, “I look skinny, but I love to kickbox. I don’t aim for muscles, but it’s my favorite form of stress relief.” She grinned sheepishly at the play’s costume designer, who merely huffed and continued her work. 

“Not to worry, dear. I’ve fitted far more difficult clients. Your figure is lovely, just less skinny than I initially noticed.” 

Rey sucked in a gasp as she felt Amilyn lace the stays of her period-appropriate corset tightly, her ribs constricting to accommodate the fit of the garment. 

_Garment,_ Rey scoffed. _More like torture device._

“I’ll make some tweaks for your performance; I want you to be comfortable, but authentic.” Amilyn fiddled with the light cotton skirt she draped over the corset, which she topped with a layer of nearly-translucent muslin. The combination of fabrics gave Rey the illusion of luminosity, her costume fairly glowing in contrast with the flat black of Ben’s Dracula. 

“For today, though,” Amilyn continued, fluffing Rey’s skirts with a flourish, “this will have to do. Can you breathe okay?”

Rey inhaled experimentally. “I think so,” she said breathily. “But I do understand why the ladies of the Victorian era hated these so passionately.”

Amilyn laughed and sent Rey on her way, their second dress rehearsal day about to begin.

Rey waited at stage left for the rest of their troupe to arrive; she smiled around at the small theatre they called home. Resistance Productions, run by Leia Organa, was a small and streamlined operation by design, with a minimalist philosophy that allowed the plays and performances themselves to shine. Costumes, staging, even the number of characters themselves were all kept as bare-bones as possible.

Luke Skywalker, Rey knew, was Leia’s brother, and the creative half of the talented duo. Leia financed and organized; Luke executed his creative visions as director. Rey had been witness to more than one disagreement between the pair over the last few weeks, and she admired their ability to jab at one another professionally while still exuding a personal closeness borne of being twins.

Rey looked around The Raddus now, enjoying the warm jewel tones of the theatre, the navy seats with their gilded golden armrests, the hunter green decor of the boxes, the rich rubies of the carpets and draperies. The stage glowed a warm dark brown under the lights, and Rey began to perspire even beneath her comparatively lightweight costume. Ben didn’t have it nearly so easy, with his suits and cloaks. 

As if summoned by her thoughts, Ben appeared at stage right in his full Dracula regalia; tailored black pants that emphasized his long legs, a black cape with a high collar that made him look positively feral, the sheen of his dark Victorian greatcoat, all punctuated by the pure white of the ascot he wore around his neck. His mahogany hair gleamed above glowering brows, creating a picture of contrasts: the light and the dark, the innocent and the wicked.

Rey breathed through the attraction he inevitably provoked in her until she was able to send him a friendly smile. She didn’t expect one in return, as Ben always stayed in character until the end of the day; she knew after a month of work with him that this wasn’t meant to be rude, but was simply the way he worked best. To him, being an excellent colleague took priority over being a sociable co-star. It was one of so many things she admired about him.

Other actors trickled in; Poe Dameron, playing Doctor Van Helsing, appeared with his salt-and-pepper streaked hair artfully coiffed as usual, his flamboyant costume perfectly suiting the fanatic he was playing. Her friend Finn Storm was acting as her fiance, Jonathan Harker, and was attired plainly, befitting his role as a London solicitor.

Rose emerged soon after, dressed and made up as Mina’s best friend Lucy Westenra, followed shortly by the tall and imposing DJ, who was playing the madman Renfield, complete with his tattered greatcoat and untidy hair.

“All right, everyone!” Luke called, clapping his hands and garnering the attention of each participant. “You all look great. Everyone feeling good? Ready to go?” A range of nods and assents rejoined Luke’s query. “Artoo, ready with effects?” A series of beeps answered him from somewhere in the bowels of the theatre. “Chewie, lighting? Threepio, music?” Luke grinned when his longtime sidekicks answered in the affirmative.

“Okay, gang, here’s the deal. Today we’re going to run through some of the big scenes where most of you are on stage. When you’re not, though, you’re going to be hustling behind the curtains. Everyone pitches in for costume changes, set switches, cleanup, effects, the works. That’s how a streamlined production like this works.”

Everyone listened attentively as Luke spoke, his worn grey coat and tunic somehow lending him an air of additional authority, as though showing just how many times he’d done this and how often he’d been behind successful productions. He waved a green smoothie about in one hand as he spoke, the other hidden behind a black glove.

“Today, we’ll focus on blocking, lighting, and dialogue changes we might have to make because of your costumes. Then we have just a few days until opening. Any questions?”

No one answered, and Rey sensed the same excitement growing amongst the players as she’d felt from them yesterday. 

“Great. Let’s begin with the dinner scenes, then we’re going to work on some of the diary scenes with voiceovers so we can test out our effects. Places, everyone!”

Rey scrambled to sit at the long dinner table at center stage, laden with candelabras and gleaming china. Threepio struck up the music, and eerily somber violin filled the air. Chewie dimmed the lights and lit the electric candles, and the scene began.

Rey laughed and ate and drank her way through several scenes with her colleagues; she found herself as intrigued and enraptured by the setting as Mina would have been in the Count’s drawing room. Ben loomed large at the head of the dining table, his expression hooded, his plate empty, as he reigned over his dinner party.

Rey could feel her glance stray to him time and again, and was delighted to be playing Mina so her character had an excuse to gaze his way. Ben Solo was magnetic; Ben Solo playing Dracula was nothing short of hypnotic.

By the time the third scene wrapped, Rey felt curiously lightheaded, the stage teetering gently beneath her feet as she rose from her chair at the long table. She reached for the pitcher of real water on a prop sideboard, pouring herself a glass and gulping it eagerly.

Her nose wrinkled; the tepid liquid did nothing to cool her down. She shifted in her corset, trying to lengthen her spine to allow for more breathing room. Rey certainly didn’t want to be a diva about her costume--despite the legendary talent associated with this production, not a single actor was finicky or particular about much at all. Rey shook herself and determined to soldier on, not wanting to complain about fit when she knew the issue would be resolved tomorrow.

She finished her water and wheeled the sideboard offstage as the other actors finished removing the table and chairs into the wings; Finn pushed a single desk onto stage right and sent her a salute before heading out to take his break.

Rey took her place at the desk, waited for Luke to give her the nod to begin the scene, and tried to breathe deeply, frustrated when the corset prevented her lungs from expanding. She blinked away the dots swimming before her eyes and picked up a quill from Mina’s desk, letting her eyes slide shut, holding still until Rey Johnson was no more.

* * *

“Dear Diary,” Rey spoke slowly, her voice measured but firm as she moved her quill and ink across the parchment before her. “In the beginning, there was the voice.” She glanced up at Ben as his deep chuckle echoed around the stage, amplified thanks to Chewie’s expertise. “A masculine voice, calling out to me in my sleep.” She paused in her writing to lift her head, seemingly lost in thought, musing about Dracula’s seductiveness.

“A disembodied voice,” she continued, “slithering into my dream.” Ben called out softly at this, uttering “Mina,” in a low murmur. As she wrote, narrating her words, Ben supplied examples of his intrusions into her sleep.

“A voice of deep timbre and tones, of sensuous growls, of low, hollow moans.” Ben never broke character as Dracula, making such convincingly sexy noises that Rey felt herself growing even more fevered under the stage lights. “A voice laden with promise and with love. Hushed like wind through a valley and smooth like velvet.” Rey had to pause in her narration to reflect that whoever had written this adaptation of Dracula could have been crafting this description of Ben Solo’s voice and presence. 

“I neither had, nor wanted, power against it. The voice...was my master.” Rey looked up at Ben as she finished the diary entry, replacing her quill in the inkpot with a flourish as Dracula swept forth on the stage.

“My dearest Mina,” he began, murmuring to her as he extended a long, pale-fingered hand toward her. She took it and rose, as if in a trance, her entire world narrowing down to his dark eyes and piercing gaze. “For centuries, I have been alone.” Rey drifted close to his side, swaying toward his large size, confident he would keep her safe.

“I have nearly perished from loneliness,” he continued, his voice a deep murmur into her hair, “and yet...I could not die.” Rey felt tears well up in her eyes in the dreamlike scene; this poor creature, this isolated soul. Her heart ached for him.

“When I saw your photograph and read your words, I had an uncanny premonition that you were destined for me.” Rey shuddered at the dark possessiveness of the words, that she was meant for him, to consume, to keep. 

She shifted, fighting to retain her presence of mind, unwilling to be seduced. “You’re a monster,” she protested against his chest, aware that his arms were supporting her more than should have been strictly necessary.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “I am.” As his words reverberated around the dark theatre, Rey sighed, a sound escaping her throat at the end of her exhalation as she sank to the ground, unable to resist the pull of unconsciousness any longer.

* * *

“And, cut!” Luke boomed, leading a round of applause. “Wow, great improvisation there, Rey. Fainting was a good addition.” He frowned when he got no reply and looked up to see Ben crouching over Rey’s prone form, shaking her shoulder urgently.

“Rey?” Ben was saying urgently, the furrows in his forehead belying his worry. “Rey!” His head snapped up and he scanned the seats for Amilyn without success. “Her corset! She’s been off all morning—I don’t think she can breathe!”

“Well, get it off her!” Luke roared, rushing to climb the stairs at stage left. Ben didn’t waste a moment, quickly flipping Rey onto her stomach and ripping at the back of her gauzy dress. He spared a second of regret for Amilyn’s hard work before hooking his fingers into the ties of her corset and yanking hard, the knots and string snapping under the desperation of his hands.

As soon as the offending garment was loosened, Rey’s ribs expanded of their own accord, oxygen filling her lungs as she gasped for air. She coughed, and Ben continued to pull at her stays, rubbing her shoulder soothingly with his other hand.

“Rey?” he asked gently. “You okay, sweetheart?” She replied with only a low groan, beginning to turn over, then realizing her torn dress was gaping away from her body. She clutched it to her chest with a feverish giggle, then rolled onto her back, groaning helplessly as she closed her eyes against the blinding stage lights.

 _Oh, dear,_ Rey thought. Had she _fainted_? Of all the idiotic things to do, she’d passed out and had to be rescued by Ben Solo. She’d literally swooned into his arms. Rey groaned in mortification, lifting a hand to shield her eyes enough from the spotlights so she could squint up at Ben.

“Ben, I am so sorry. I am so embarrassed,” she began, stammering through her apology. To her consternation, he just laughed. _Oh god. He was laughing at her. Ben Solo was literally laughing at her stupidity._ She felt tears of humiliation rise in her eyes, one slipping out to trail down her cheek.

“No, Rey, don’t cry,” Ben murmured, stroking a thumb against her face to catch the wayward tear. “I’m just relieved you’re okay. You were just...gone, so suddenly. It scared me to death.”

Rey offered up a watery laugh. “You’re supposed to be the undead one,” she joked weakly, and was rewarded with the familiar crinkle of Ben’s warm eyes as his face filled with relief. 

“Don’t scare me like that,” he childed gently, and suddenly, Rey became aware of the way his arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and how the length of her body was pressed against his, and how she was feeling very feverish indeed.

“Rey!” Luke cried. “Are you okay? What on earth happened?”

Rey shifted in Ben’s arms, and instead of releasing her, as she expected, he gripped her more tightly in his hold. She looked up at him, confused.

“Your dress,” he whispered. Rey looked down and realized that if she’d sat up, she’d have flashed Luke and everyone else. She smiled at Ben in gratitude and then turned to meet Luke’s gaze.

“I’m so sorry, Luke. I’m perfectly fine. Amilyn was surprised by my measurements and told me she’d need to make some adjustments to my costume, but that they wouldn’t be ready quite yet. I suppose the heat and constriction got to me. I apologize for the disruption.” Had her hands been free, Rey would have wrung them in despair, staring down her concerned director.

“Rey,” he waved a hand reassuringly, “don’t worry. I’m just glad you’re all right. Let’s all break for a half hour, then we’ll pick it back up with some of Jonathan’s diaries. Okay, everybody?” The rest of the cast grumbled in assent as they shuffled out through the wings, and Rey struggled to her feet, her costume in shreds around her.

She looked up at Ben, who kept one hand on her shoulder, still steadying her. “Thank you, Ben. Really. I’m so embarrassed. That won’t happen again.”

Finally, after staring at her for longer than Rey thought was warranted, Ben removed his hand from her shoulder. “It’s okay, Rey. Really.” He gave her a small smile, one that she’d come to cherish based on how rarely he handed them out, and motioned for her to exit the stage before him.

With a murmur of thanks, she walked slowly into the wings, aware of his body close behind hers. Confused, she glanced over her shoulder.

“Your _dress_ ,” he murmured again, and all at once, she remembered that the back half of her gown had been torn from her body by his powerful hands. That his fingers had ripped the sturdy ties that bound her, had cleaved through barriers both strong and flimsy to get to her skin.

Rey shivered in delight at the thought, and Ben must have assumed she was cold, for he whipped off the cloak he wore and wrapped it around her body as they walked through the backstage area and toward the costume department.

Rey inhaled, the woodsy, spicy musk that Ben exuded wrapped firmly around her, and she clutched the fabric more tightly to her body, trying to memorize the smell before she had to return the garment. Surely Ben wasn’t so chivalrous to all his co-stars, she reasoned; he must just be very protective of newer actors. It seemed like the closet thing he could be, aside from friendly and sociable, which Rey knew he simply wasn’t.

She grinned a bit as they entered Amilyn’s territory, racks of clothing and costumes pushed against each wall in the room. “Holdo?” Ben called, and Rey took the silence as an opportunity to study the wigs, shoes, gloves, and other accessories jumbled on floating shelves that lined the walls. As she slowly turned, she found herself looking up at Ben, who loomed a head taller than her, and whose features were far more beautiful to Rey than every costume in the room.

She flicked her eyes away when she heard footsteps approaching, and Holdo rushed into the room. 

“Rey!” the slender woman cried, her eyes wide in worry. “Are you okay? I heard you collapsed! Are you injured?” As she spoke, she pulled Dracula’s cloak off of Rey’s body, tossing it impatiently over her shoulder to Ben, who caught it with a guffaw. Rey thought she saw his eyes track down the length of her body, over her torn gown and loose corset, before he hastily averted his gaze, spun on a heel, and fled the room.

Rey blinked, focusing on the frantic woman in front of her, who was pulling unceremoniously at the costume she’d so painstakingly laced Rey into just hours ago. “Rey, I am so sorry. Your new costume will be ready in just a few days, so until then, I’ll speak to Luke about letting you stay in street clothes. I cannot apologize enough.” By the time Amilyn had finished her frenetic speech, she’d stripped Rey bare, who stood shivering in the center of the room in just her breast band and shorts.

“Amilyn, really,” she began, her tone reassuring. “This production is so incredible. I’m shocked there hasn’t been a single hiccup, so if this is it, I’ll be delighted. I am so thankful something like this didn’t happen on opening night!” Rey laughed nervously. “I mean...with my luck, something else bad will happen on opening night, but for now, this seems like a hiccup I can tolerate.”

Amilyn smiled. “Rey, you’re going to fit in around here just fine.” She tossed a robe around Rey’s shoulders, tucking the edges beneath her crossed forearms.

Rey watched, fascinated, as Amilyn flitted around the room, snagging swatches of white fabric, effortlessly crafting a temporary costume for Mina’s character.

“How long have you been doing this, Amilyn?”

“Oh, over a decade now,” she replied airily. “This was my second career, of course. Before I did costumes I was in the military. I created a utility piece for the force—the Chyron Belt—and it felt so natural and creative that when I retired, I started doing it full time.”

“That’s what I love about the theater,” Rey said. “Everyone is here because they want to be. No one is here making a living; we’re here because we love it.” She inhaled deeply; the scent of the wardrobe department, of the mustiness of the theatre, of the burnt caramel scent of special effects and lighting fixtures.

Rey, of no home, felt in an instant that _this_ could be her home.

Amilyn smiled at her. “I love it too, Rey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying this story, definitely check out these adaptations of Dracula!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening Night goes off without a hitch...in everything except for Rey's feelings for Ben.

With dress rehearsals completed, opening night was fast approaching. Rey had never worked with a director as calm as Luke was in the days leading up to their debut. Luke seemed totally serene in the face of a flustered Amilyn, a perplexed Artoo, and a grouchy Chewie.

The cast seemed to take their cues from Luke, rehearsing and tweaking so professionally and unemotionally that Rey wasn’t sure this whole experience wasn’t just a dream. Every other time she’d been attached to a production, the days and hours leading up to opening night had been chaotic, sleep-deprived, and stressful.

In contrast, Rey felt more at ease with every rehearsal that went by. She could say her lines in her sleep, could play Mina on autopilot, could anticipate every line and look and emotion from her colleagues. Similarly, she knew what Luke wanted, when he wanted it, and why he wanted it to be that way.

The whole process seemed too easy.

Rey should’ve known better.

In the final rehearsal, just hours before patrons would fill the navy chairs of the Raddus, Ben and Rey were onstage, loosely rehearsing the last scene Luke didn’t love. It was the moment Mina gave in to Dracula; the moment she allowed herself to act from feelings rather than logic. The moment he got to bite her.

This morning, Rey lay on a platform at center stage, which would be a bed later this evening. She wore a faded t-shirt, which would be a beribboned nightgown during her performance. Similarly, Ben loomed over her, having crept in what would later be her window, attired in a loose button-down, which he’d trade for a high-collared cloak and realistic-looking fangs in the play.

“Okay,” Luke was saying, shoving a hand through his hair. “Without any dialogue, I’m having a hard time showing the audience how Mina has decided to allow Dracula to bite her. Dracula is still looking too much like the villain here, and that’s not what we’re going for.” He looked up at them. “Right?”

Rey nodded.

“So, I’d like to add just a few lines here—just ad-libs, whatever you feel is right—to show this moment between Mina and Dracula as more of a union and less of an attack. Can we try that?”

Rey looked to Ben for a cue; he was nodding, and she dearly hoped he’d take the lead on Luke’s request. She’d never been asked to improvise dialogue before.

“Okay, from the top then.” Luke stilled, one arm clasped around his ribs, the other fisted beneath his chin, and watched.

Ben walked to the rear of the stage, and Rey rose, going through the motions of her nightly ablutions once more. She hummed to herself, pantomiming brushing the long hair she’d have later tonight. She turned to the window, shivering, imagining a gust of wind blowing her hair around her face.

“My darling,” Ben spoke, lowly, the new line of dialogue sending a thrill down Rey’s spine as she watched him sweep toward her. She froze in place, allowing Mina a gasp of anticipation as her dark prince approached.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmured, staring down at her, his large hand rising to cup her neck. Rey lifted her own hands to Ben’s chest, clutching his thin shirt, already imagining sliding her fingers beneath the rich fabric of his cloak tonight.

“You feel it, too?” Rey murmured. “This—this pull?”

“I do.” It was a simple matter for Rey to shudder in his arms, to lift her face to his. Ben cupped her cheek, smoothing the hair back from her face, his hand facing the audience. “You’re not alone,” he said, bowing his head to hers.

As his lips ghosted against her neck, Rey let her eyes close in bliss, and murmured, “neither are you.”

Ben wrapped his other hand around her shoulders, and she knew he’d break the bag of fake blood that would be hidden there during their performance this evening. His lips ghosted against her neck as they did during every rehearsal, but this morning, he pressed them firmly against her skin...and blew a raspberry.

Rey squealed, laughing breathlessly, her body bowing away from the ticklish sensation. “You arse,” she gasped, looking up to see Ben laughing down at her, the merriment that came with a job well done dancing in his eyes.

Rey shook her head and turned to see Luke smiling at them both, his thumb and forefinger held up in the universal gesture of “perfection.” Ben must have been able to see Luke’s approval before his little stunt, and Rey rolled her eyes. Of course he was proud of his improv work; like the rest of his acting, it was spot-on.

“That’s perfect, guys,” Luke said. “I’ll jot some notes, but do something similar tonight, and feel free to change it up each performance, if you like. It feels really authentic.” He began to meander away, still enthusing to himself in a low mutter.

“Let’s grab some lunch before we all get hauled into pre-production again,” Ben suggested, and Rey happily allowed him to follow her to the folding table in a hallway that held sandwiches, fruit, and veggies.

As she grabbed a plate and piled it high, Rey turned to Ben. “What was your first big opening night like?”

He smiled down at the roast beef sandwich he was dousing with horseradish. “Chaos.” He laughed a little. “Really, it was terrible. It was this little play, with inexperienced people at every level. I think just a small crowd came to our opening, and my co-star came down with food poisoning and vomited in the middle of the stage.”

Rey laughed in disbelief. “Ben, that’s terrible!”

He shrugged as they grabbed chips and moved to a folding table and chairs. “It just seemed surreal. I don’t think we were even able to complete a full act, because without Snap’s character, we couldn’t go on.” He grinned at the memory, and Rey cracked open a can of soda as she watched him. She couldn’t imagine a young Ben Solo, naive and lacking the poise and gravity each of his recent roles were laced with. 

“What did you do? In the middle of the scene, I mean?” Rey took a huge bite of her turkey club and waited for his response.

Ben finished chewing as he thought. “I just helped the stagehands clean up the vomit after the audience had departed, and we tried again the next night. ‘The show must go on,’ and all that. And it did— just not until the next evening.”

“So you’ve always been accustomed to helping around the theatre?”

Ben’s face fell a little. “My whole life,” he confirmed. “I grew up in the wings. My mother acted.”

Rey tried to think back to what she knew of Ben’s personal life, but found that she couldn’t come up with a single detail. He was a rising star, but his privacy was a cloak he kept wrapped tightly around himself. The media, reporters, and even biographers hadn’t been able to dig anything up on his family.

“That couldn’t have been fun for a young boy,” Rey said softly.

Ben met her eyes. “No, it wasn’t.” He sighed. “But it’s in the past.”

Rey nudged his knee with hers beneath the table. “No matter how hard we try, we can’t escape our past.” She laughed, the sound hollow. “I know I’ve tried.”

Ben looked at her curiously, but decided to let the subject pass, finishing off his sandwich and brushing off his ridiculously large fingers.

“Vampire time,” he said, standing. “See you tonight, Rey.” She waved a goodbye to him, her mouth full of sourdough. “Oh,” he tossed over his shoulder, “and please promise not to puke on me?”

She laughed aloud and he left the room with a grin.

Rey sighed to herself, the memory of that little smirk on Ben’s face seared onto her brain. He was the most attractive man she’d ever met, with his gorgeous hair and massive body and intelligent eyes. Before she’d known him, she’d been in awe of his talent, but now? After getting to know him, Rey felt the weight of his friendship around her very heart. He was funny, and compassionate; smart and creative.

Every shade of Ben she got to see painted a more beautiful picture. She knew so much of him now, from the little boy in the wings to the man who took center stage; from the terrifying portrayals he was known for to the kindness and humor he showed his fellow actors backstage.

Rey was already dreading the end of their play’s run; she’d miss working with Ben, being motivated and inspired by his talent, feeling the crackling energy between them that came, she knew, from her infatuation.

Rey crumpled the paper from her sandwich into a ball and tossed it into the waste bin in the corner, making a conscious effort to toss away her worries as well.

She could fret about Ben Solo another time. Tonight, she would be Mina Harker, strong and uncompromising, benevolent and sharp. Rey’s worries could wait.

* * *

“Okay, people. All of our hard work has led us to tonight.” Luke gazed around at the cast and crew, attired flawlessly, excited, and anticipatory to a man. “We are gonna nail this. Just have fun tonight, okay? And break a leg!” He gave everyone a thumbs up and everyone dispersed, taking their places.

Rey found herself in a relative moment of peace with Ben, waiting at stage right as Finn walked out into the darkened theater alone.

“Ready?” he murmured, glancing down at her from above his dark collar, brown eyes glowing warm with Ben Solo’s light before they went cold and dark as Dracula, his hair artificially greyed with powder, deep lines scored into his face with makeup, befitting his image as the starved, aging vampire he initially appeared to be.

“Yep. See you in a bit.” He nudged her, then waited for Finn to finish his opening monologue before inhaling deeply and striding out onto the stage, ready to captivate Jonathan Harker with his deadly allure.

Rey watched from the wings as Dracula welcomed Jonathan to his castle, after which she and the other offstage roles hurried to help clear and then stage a dinner set in the darkness between scenes. She knew that in the wings, makeup would be being frantically applied to Finn to age him, while Ben would be getting younger and more healthy-looking with its removal. 

Finn’s Jonathan Harker wasted away over the next few scenes, preyed upon by Ben’s Dracula, and then another re-staging would take the action to Whitby, where Rey’s Mina and Rose’s Lucy would finally meet the vampire.

Rey lurked behind her persona of Mina, distantly aware of how in her element Rose is as the flirtatious Lucy, privately delighted by how well the play is going. Then, it was finally time for her to share the stage with Ben, and her scene with him consumed her focus entirely.

* * *

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Murray.” The dark count grasped her hand in his cool fingers, raising it gently to his lips, which brushed over her skin. Rey shuddered at the contact, looking up from beneath her eyelashes at his predatory gaze.

“I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance as well,” she returned and her eyes were drawn to the heat of his, such a sharp contrast to the cold paleness of his skin. They drifted apart, separated by other actors as the dinner scene progressed.

Later, near the fire, she was alone with him again at center stage, the audience’s attention on their exchange.

“I do miss him, and worry for him,” she admitted tremulously.

Dracula settled a hand atop hers in comfort. “I am certain your Mr. Harker will be back with you soon.” He smiled gently. “You belong together, after all, beside the person with whom you wish to share all the days of your life.”

His smile turned wistful, cheeks creasing and eyes softening, and Rey glimpsed Ben for just a moment as he spoke his next line. “I have been searching for such a person for…” he paused, staring deeply into her eyes as he regained his vampiric intensity, “a very long time.”

Rey swallowed, pressing her free hand over his impulsively, their fingers linked atop her knee. “You will find her one day,” she promised, eyes boring into his, imploring him to have faith, to find the light.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. I believe I shall.”

The stage went dark, and Ben and Rey rushed offstage. In the dim light of the wings, Rey presented her back to Ben, who quickly unfastened her gown and corset, loosening them with practiced efficiency. As soon as she was freed, with a nod from Rey over her shoulder, Ben rushed back onstage to attack Lucy in the night. With enough wiggle room for her to slip out of the costume quickly and change into her billowing nightgown for the next scene, Rey divested herself of her heavy gown, flinging on the nightdress just in time to rush into Lucy’s bedroom to quiet her friend’s frenzied ramblings.

As night faded into day and day into night, Rey undertook a dizzying number of costume changes with Ben’s help, his fingers alternately fastening and undoing her costumes, long fingers dancing down her spine as he worked. The play progressed, and Rey helped Ben modify his own appearance as he evolved. He would let no one else darken his eyelids with liner, preferring the light strokes of her practiced hands to his own. While she worked at his makeup, he dusted the powder from his hair and removed the padding from around his shoulders as his posture straightened and his face became more youthful and handsome.

By the time they arrived at intermission, once Lucy had risen as a new vampire, Rey could feel her energy flagging from the adrenaline, set changes, and effects. Backstage, she quickly downed a doubleshot of espresso, enjoying the acidic tang in her throat the beverage wrought, and chalking her increased heart rate up to both the caffeine and her upcoming scene with Ben.

The muted ringing of bells signaled the audience to retake their seats for the second act, and Rey knew that was her cue to get onstage. In the darkness, she scampered quickly toward the stage, the ghost light always left on in the theatre illuminating her path. With a swoosh of her nightgown, she passed Ben, who was waiting in the wings, and Rey leapt onto her stage bed, drawing the covers up around her throat. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited to hear the music signaling her inner monologue’s beginning.

* * *

The brassy tones of a score heavy with trumpets and drums signaled Dracula’s approach, and Rey dozed languidly in her bed as the curtain rose. She tossed fitfully, her sleep plagued with dreams of a tall, dark man hovering above her.

Her eyes remained closed even as she felt his approach; his body displacing the musty air of her bedroom, which he’d entered despite the windows being tightly shut. She felt a dip in the mattress as his knee came to rest near her hip, his breath ghosting against her skin as he bent over her prone form.

“Darling Mina,” he rumbled, his chocolate voice sliding over her senses, penetrating the mist of her sleep. Rey allowed her eyes to flutter open and lock onto his, eerily black as his pupils swallowed the honeyed amber of his irises.

He reached down, skimming his knuckles over the ribboned collar of her nightdress, two fingers pulling at the satin until the gown fell open at the neck, exposing her collarbones and upper chest. His mouth found the sensitive skin at her throat, and the gasp that escaped her came as much from Rey as Mina. As his lips caressed her body, she moaned in ecstasy, whether from fear or pleasure, she didn’t know.

And then he bit down, and she gasped loudly again, the music rising to a crescendo around them as a pre-recorded clip of Mina’s thoughts echoed into the audience. _The pain was trivial,_ she explained, _quickly replaced by a feeling of languid pleasure such as I had never before imagined. It was as though something new, magical, and effervescent was mingling with my own life essence._

Beneath him on the bed, Rey writhed in ecstasy, moaning as she clutched at his thick black cloak with desperate fingers. He knelt more fully over her, the darkness of his clothing a sharp foil to the ivory of her nightgown and the white of her bedclothes.

 _If nirvana existed,_ Rey’s own voice intoned around them, _this must be it. I never wanted it to end._

She relaxed in his bloody embrace, their bodies intertwined on the bed, as he drank his fill and Mina weakened beneath him. The insistent writhing of her limbs calmed, while the pulsing awareness between her thighs only intensified. Rey, beneath the mask of Mina, fought for control; they’d rehearsed this scene before, so why was everything feeling so much more intense now?

As though he could sense her unease, Ben let his fingers trail across her cheek in reassurance, hidden from the audience by his high collar. He leapt away from her body, moving preternaturally quickly as a booming knock at her bedchamber echoed around the stage. Rey sat up with a startled gasp, hands flying to her neck to find the collar of her nightdress stained crimson, but the wounds at her neck healed quickly by his careful touch.

Jonathan Harker and Dr. Van Helsing burst into her room, bemoaning her bloodied state, Finn playing the part of a distressed fiancee perfectly. Poe was a thoughtful Van Helsing, delivering his lines with a zeal that rivaled Ben’s as Dracula.

Throughout the second act, Rey tried and failed to avoid Dracula’s predatory seductions, going so far as to marry her betrothed so she wouldn’t have to sleep alone. In Luke’s version of the story, this was hardly a deterrent; Dracula succeeded in not only visiting Mina, but in forging a bond between the two of them so they were connected no matter how far apart they may be.

Rey sobbed real tears at the climax of the play, the romantic nature of the connection between Mina and Dracula making the vampire’s death poignant and symbolic rather than gory or cliche. As Dracula’s body vanished, leaving only his black clothing behind, Mina brushed her fingers against the soft wool of his empty sweater.

The stage was cleared, and Rey felt curiously bereft as she watched Finn deliver his closing monologue as Jonathan. Tears gathered in her eyes, the wings blessedly empty before everyone would head back onstage for their bows.

A large hand clapped down on her shoulder, and Rey had to stifle a scream as she jumped in fright. Her head snapped around to see Ben, whose lovely, black-lined eyes twinkled down at her.

“Doing okay?” he asked, humor overlaying the warmth in his deep voice.

Rey sighed. “Yes, but I can’t figure out why I’m so emotional tonight,” she admitted.

Ben hummed, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. “Opening night is always significant. We’ve done all this work, and now we’re sharing it with the world. From here, we get to do new work, thinking about tweaks or revisions we want to make. But all in all, this is a big turning point." He sighed. "I always feel relieved. We pulled it off, and we put on a beautiful show.” 

He shrugged and made to rake a hand through his hair, as was his habit, before remembering the volume of product in it. Instead, he slung an arm around her shoulders in a friendly gesture. The weight of it made her shudder, and once again, she wondered at her increasingly physical responses to Ben.

“Thanks, Ben.” She looked up at him, gratitude and admiration shining on her face, she was sure. “I’m really glad to have you.”

Ben smiled softly at her, and held her gaze. Rey felt her breath catch in her chest, and she watched as his eyes drifted down to her lips, lingering there. She licked them reflexively and heard him suck in a breath beside her.

The curtain dropped with a thud of fabric and sandbags, and Rey snapped out of her trancelike state as she heard the roaring of applause. Ben removed his arm from her shoulders quickly, leaving her feeling curiously untethered. Slowly, he tore his gaze away from her, eyes lingering on her mouth again before he began to lead the backstage cheering as their co-stars took the stage for their bows.

When Ben and Rey dashed out into the spotlights, grasping hands as they bowed over and over again to thunderous applause, Rey could hardly contain her emotions. She felt so proud of all the cast had achieved; so blessed to work beside talents like Ben and Luke; so tormented by her attraction to Ben and how unprofessional it felt. She pushed it all out of her mind and focused on the moment, warm beneath the stage lights, deafened by the thunderous applause of their inaugural audience.

Her being was suffused with a sense of belonging, so at home onstage with a performance under her belt it was like breathing. Rey beamed out at the crowd, taking bow after bow with her hand clasped in Ben’s.

Standing here, beside him, on this stage—it felt like home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting! It brings me so much joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos are never taken for granted and I appreciate them so much. :)


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